


To Care is to Grieve

by vials



Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-24
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22394824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: There's precious little that's kind and gentle in Makt, and what does manage to exist is quickly stamped out. That's probably why Holland told himself that his feelings for Talya stopped strictly atsomeone to pass a few hours a week with-- to care any more would be to set himself up for tragedy.Unfortunately he has no choice in the matter, and when Talya's gentleness finally lands her in trouble, Holland finally has to face facts (and kick ass).
Relationships: Talya/Holland Vosijk
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11





	To Care is to Grieve

Holland Vosijk had never expected to fall in love. He had never really thought much about it at all.

Really, it hadn’t been all that important to him. There had never been much room for love in his world, and he hadn’t seen much of it around. He knew of no couples, he could think of no occasions where he had seen anybody be affectionate to one another. The world was too rough for that, and his city even more so. Even the songs sung in the taverns were rough, about fighting and power and the danger that lurked at the world’s borders; songs of foreboding and warning and hopelessness. Nobody sang about gentle things, because nothing that was gentle survived for long. 

Holland had learned that from an early age. He supposed the lesson _should_ have been learned the moment his eye had turned black, but of course he had had his brother then, and being only eight years old he had been foolish enough to believe Alox when he had promised to protect him, to keep his secret. Now he was older, Holland realised that Alox had only ever intended to keep his secret for as long as it took him to work out how to take the magic for himself, but when he had been nine years old and trying to comprehend seeing Alox coming towards him with a knife – towards _him_! – the intricacies of the situation hadn’t yet been clear. He knew it now, though, and that was Holland’s only experience with love. Alox had said he loved him, said that he was his baby brother and he’d always look out for him. If that was what love was, Holland was glad he hadn’t experienced more of it; glad he had never forced it on anybody else. 

Love was sneakier than violence, though, and less abrupt than magic. Holland understood both well by now, but love had still managed to creep up on him and settle in his chest before he had even realised it was there. Love came to him in the form of a grinning, laughing girl, and the name it used was Talya.

Even when he first saw her, he hadn’t realised. He had liked her well enough, because she was entertaining and funny and had a way of telling stories that made the world melt away, but he didn’t even realise he _cared_ about her for a long time. As far as he knew, she felt the same way. It wasn’t wise to care about people in this city, not with its constant changes and its constant violence, the comments that would turn into a fight that would turn into a killing. It was easier to keep things simple, to not question relationships too much, to never greet one another with enthusiasm and to never linger on goodbye. For a long time Holland and Talya saw one another in the market and the market only, and even then they could hardly call it _spending time_ together. A quick conversation here, a comment there, a joke, a laugh. Talya with her animated features and her hand gestures, telling him all about what stupid thing had happened at work that day. Holland hanging on her every word, and barely noticing how his eyes caught on the small details as she talked: her lips as she smiled, the easy sing-song quality to her voice, the way she seemed somehow _brighter_ than everything else around her. 

Holland had had friends before, even if some of them had been valued more than others. He could count on one hand the people he had truly connected with, and who weren’t sticking close to him for their own personal purposes – whether that be as part of an attempt to try and steal his magic for their own, or simply because they liked the idea of being seen with an _Antari_ ; of having that power even tangibly on their side. It certainly gave them some advantages, and that much Holland had to admit. He was mostly left alone now, having proven time and time again that trying anything with him was a bad idea; that safety seemed to extend to his friends, provided they didn’t push their luck. They rarely did, knowing well by now how Holland would let them take a kicking if he thought they’d talked themselves into it well enough. He didn’t think he would have that problem with Talya, though, because she was simply too _nice_. Even when he hadn’t yet realised he cared about her, he knew that she was a friend, and he knew that he liked seeing her around, and perhaps that was why he had been so taken by surprise. It had all seemed so _normal_. Surely love would have been more than that? 

“I got told to go fuck myself again today,” Talya said brightly, by way of greeting. Holland had barely even reached the stall she was stationed at; to his amusement she had called over to him while he was still some distance away, resulting in some looks. 

“What did you do this time?” he asked, once he got to the stall. As always, the offers were lacking. Holland sometimes wondered how much longer the market could last, with barely anything to sell.

“I told somebody to have a nice morning,” Talya said gravely. “And he asked me what was so nice about it, and I said that well, another morning on the ground is better than a morning under it, right? And he told me to go fuck myself.”

“And what did you say to that?” Holland asked.

“I said that that would make it a very nice morning indeed, didn’t he think?”

Holland laughed. He laughed so much with her – probably more than he’d ever laughed with anyone before in his life. It was one of the many qualities that he liked about Talya – the fact she could make him laugh, and the fact that she was never what anybody expected. Here she was, a happy, bright girl who seemed oblivious to the world around her, caring not for its many faults and for the fact that people like her were often not welcome, being far too optimistic for most people’s liking. What people failed to realise about her, but that Holland had quickly noticed, was that she had a sharp tongue on her and a wit unrivalled by anyone; she could throw back insults as quickly as they came, and nobody ever expected it from her. The looks on people’s faces after an unexpected tongue-lashing were often Holland’s favourite part of visiting Talya at her stall. On one memorable occasion, he had even seen her hurl a heavy copper mug at the back of somebody’s head and hit a perfect target from clean across the marketplace. 

“It’s nice to see everyone is still their cheery, friendly selves this morning,” Holland said. “Doesn’t it just warm your heart?”

“It’s why I do this job,” Talya replied, her tone a realistic impression of sincerity. “Do I do it to earn a living? No way. I could live on the streets quite happily if I was safe in the knowledge that I got to bring cheer to people all day long. I’m just such a people person. I can’t get enough.”

Holland snorted. “Is that tripe how you got this job?”

“No,” Talya said, laughing. “I got this job because I knew how to count, and apparently that’s more than most of the people in this city. Fucking tragic.”

Holland didn’t know much about Talya’s life before they had met at the marketplace, and as was custom in their city he didn’t ask too much about it. There were too many terrible stories to count around here, and everyone was carrying the marks of something. People tended not to ask questions, learning what they knew from passing comments or if, for whatever reason, somebody simply decided to say so themselves. Holland had told her nothing about his own childhood, and Talya had mentioned nothing about hers, but from what he had gathered from speaking to her and hearing about her day to day life he didn’t think it was that much different from his. Sure, nobody had tried to kill her to claim her magic, but she didn’t seem to have any blood relatives left, and had apparently been raising herself in the marketplace from an early age. Certainly several of the older merchants recognised her and seemed used to her presence, and with some of them she had the comfortable air of a niece or perhaps even a granddaughter. The other merchants – the ones who hadn’t been there since the dawn of time – seemed to avoid her. Many of _them_ had more of an interest in Holland’s background than Talya did, not out of any disinterest on Talya’s part but rather out of rudeness on theirs. 

“She’s snared _you_ , hasn’t she?” asked one such person, once Holland had reluctantly disentangled himself from Talya and headed on his way.

“I didn’t realise there was a hook,” Holland said drily, not intending to stop.

He was almost past the stall when Lucien’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist; in one swift, practised motion Holland twisted it free and turned to look at him, his eyes narrowed.

“Next time I won’t be so diplomatic,” he said, and brief flicker of unease passed over Lucien’s face before he composed himself again.

“What do you think she wants with you?” he asked, an unpleasant sneer now twisting his features. “You think you’re the only boy she simpers to like that?”

Holland frowned. “I don’t particularly care who else she talks to.”

“Oh, really? Those ridiculous looks you give her have nothing to do with anything, then?”

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Holland said. “If she talks like that to everyone, I would probably just assume that’s her personality. Something the rest of you lack, if I’m honest.”

“Idiot boy,” Lucien said, shaking his head. “I’d bet she’s doing it to cover her tracks, so the rest of us don’t work out what she’s up to. She must think we were all born yesterday.”

“I suppose I was, too,” Holland said, irritated, “because you’re not making any sense to me, either.”

“You think she looks at you and sees anything other than an _Antari_ , boy?” Lucien snapped. “She’s going to sweettalk you into bed and cut your throat.”

Holland glanced over at Talya. He could just about see her from where he was standing. She was messing around with the various things on the stall, occupying herself by trying to toss the smaller items – a bunch of trinkets, really – into some of the various cups and bowls. She aimed from one side of the stall and tried to hit the ones furthest away; two missed closely, a third missed widely and she snapped her finger in a display of frustration, hurrying to get it. Then she tried again, this time hitting the target, and pumped her fist so excitedly in celebration that she reddened and glanced around to make sure nobody had seen. Holland looked away again so she wouldn’t feel his gaze, shaking his head and laughing. 

“I’ll believe that when I see it, Lucien.”

“You wouldn’t be alive to know it happened,” Lucien muttered.

“Then I’ll die believing I was right,” Holland replied. “Have a wonderful fucking day.”

He expected the thoughts to niggle at him as he moved on, but he quickly shook them away. The entire prospect was preposterous. Talya didn’t have a violent bone in her body, and it was such a consistent, unchanging part of her that Holland found himself worrying about her, wondering how she had survived as long as she had. Violence was not something she enjoyed at all – not speaking about, not seeing. She turned away from brawls and flushed red, her eyes shining, when she saw someone slumped in the gutter somewhere, broken and bleeding. Holland often thought she was far too gentle for this world, as though she had been accidentally deposited here when she had been meant for a place much warmer, much kinder. 

_If it were possible, I’d take her there_ , he thought to himself, out of nowhere, and then quickly shook the thoughts away – he had no idea where they had come from. It took him a moment to regain his previous train of thought, and then he laughed to himself, Lucien’s words seeming even more ridiculous. The idea that Talya could look at him and only see a potential source of power? It made no sense. In fact, one of the reasons that Holland had taken to her in the first place was the fact she never seemed to draw unnecessary attention to the fact that he was Antari. Of course, when they had first begun talking she had looked at his black eye with interest, but she had never obsessed over it, never stared constantly at it, never asked him stupid questions like if it was real or if he could see out of it. He felt that she saw _Holland_ first, rather than anything else, and in this city that was beyond refreshing. 

“Sweettalk me into bed,” Holland repeated to himself, snorting. “I wish.”

He hadn’t realised he said the words until he heard them in his own voice, and ridiculously he blushed. The street was deserted around him, and absolutely nobody could have possibly heard what he had said, but he still blushed as though he had announced it to a crowd. 

“I mean, not that I feel that way,” he said, as though justifying himself to this invisible audience. “But there are worse people to be sweettalked by, is what I’m saying.”

It seemed his imaginary jury didn’t accept the defence. He turned a bend in the street and was relieved to find the wind cutting up it, strong and reassuringly cold against his burning face. 

After Lucien’s accusations, Holland was aware of the man watching him every time he was at the market. He was quite sure Lucien wasn’t the only one, either: it seemed that several of the other merchants were watching him as he passed by, or making an excuse to walk past Talya’s stall when he was there with her. It seemed she hadn’t missed it, either, because sometimes they would be talking and Talya would suddenly change what she was saying mid-sentence, beginning to go on about the most boring subject she could possibly think of, and Holland would pretend to be absolutely _enraptured_ until he head the tell-tale shuffle of disappointed feet skulking away. The fourth or fifth time this happened, Talya thumped her elbows down onto the stall’s counter and rested her chin in her hands, blowing upwards into her hair.

“What is their _issue_?” she asked. “They’re constantly being nosy bastards. They think they’re being discrete, but they’re really not.”

“I don’t think they’re even trying to be discrete at this point,” Holland said, before giving Talya a brief overview of what Lucien had told him a week or so ago. “I suppose they’re just trying to see if and when you’ll make your move, and if there’ll be any blood left over for them when you’re done with me.”

Talya laughed, but she looked a little pale, as she always did when there was talk of gratuitous violence. “They’re going to be disappointed. At this time I have absolutely no plans to try and murder you, and unless something goes _really_ wrong, I don’t see that changing.”

“Even outside of that,” Holland said, “I think they’re ridiculously jealous. And I think the fact that they know, deep down, that you don’t plan anything like that for me makes them hate you.”

Talya frowned. “Why would they hate me for _that_ , of all things?”

Holland almost didn’t want to explain it to her. She was so innocent, compared to everyone else in this forsaken city, that he didn’t want to introduce her to the way most people’s minds worked. He had had to learn the subtle language out of necessity, what with all its tricks and twists being directed at him, at his life. He had learned to read between the lines, to sense the change and flow in people’s attitudes and words, in how they looked at him and how their body language shifted. He could pinpoint the moment where a blade would suddenly be thrust at him; when an arm would throw itself around his throat. He could see it all coming, sense where the idea had planted itself before its thinker had even realised it had taken root. It was a language learned by force; one he wished he didn’t have to consider. It seemed almost cruel to subject Talya to it, but at the same time leaving her in the dark was no good. If people had reason to dislike her, they had reason to try and harm her.

“They think you’re wasting your opportunity,” he said simply, almost apologetically. “They see you as having easy access to me. If you just turned on your charms you might be able to lure me to a vulnerable position, and then you could do whatever you wanted. They wish they had that same opportunity with me, but obviously it’s different for them. I’m wary of them. I don’t know them as well as I know you, I don’t particularly like any of them, and they’re obviously hostile towards me when they’re not openly coveting me. They wish it was that simple for them – that they could get me to let my guard down, and then do what they will. But they know that’s not possible, and they know that you don’t want that, and so they see this wonderful opportunity being squandered. And they hate you for it.”

Talya frowned more deeply, and then slowly shook her head. “And here was me thinking that they hated me because I was a little too cheery for their liking,” she said, sighing. “Honestly. What kind of stupidity _is_ that, anyway? Do you really have to put up with this all the time?”

“Unfortunately,” Holland said, with a small smile. 

“Well,” Talya said, seeming to bounce back within a moment, her smile back in place. “They’ll just have to remain disappointed, I suppose. It’s quite nice, knowing I can piss these miserable bastards off simply by doing nothing at all.”

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” Holland said, managing a brief laugh of his own, but then something suddenly tightened in his chest as he realised he would probably have to be on his way now, and that meant leaving her alone, and quite suddenly he realised what danger she was in; what a pit of enemies she had found herself in.

“That was an odd look,” she said curiously, peering at him. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Holland said quickly. “I just… remembered some other errands I forgot to run. Listen, be careful, alright? I know we make fun of them, but you know what people are like around here. I don’t want any of them getting the chance to start something with you.”

Talya rolled her eyes. “If they’re going to start something with me, Hol, they’ll find a way to do it.” She brightened again. “But I don’t think they will. They can’t stand how nice I am. I say hello in my peppiest voice and they turn to ash immediately.”

Holland could almost believe her. At the very least he believed her for long enough to make himself walk away, but then the dread returned, cold and heavy in his stomach, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her – _worrying_ about her, her realised, with a sickening jolt. He thought, suddenly and without wanting to, about what he would do if they hurt her; if they killed her. People had been killed for less in this city. There were no consequences, no kind of law or imprisonment past anything that would come to the attention of the monarch, who never concerned themselves with matters as small as theft or murder or kidnapping or whatever else was going on in the city’s slums. Treason would catch attention, naturally, as would planning a rebellion or an unlawful demonstration or a coup or anything else that might threaten the current monarch’s reign, but even that didn’t stop it happening seemingly monthly. Down in the slums people did what they wished when they wished, and the only kind of justice was the kind dealt out by surviving victims or their friends or relatives. There was no prison, no trials, no arrests. Only the age-old tradition of blood for blood, life for life. 

_They wouldn’t dare_ , Holland told himself firmly. _They’d know you would come for them. They wouldn’t take the risk_.

He shook his head. Why was he worrying about this? She was a friend, but she wasn’t anybody he _needed_. He had had plenty of friends and acquaintances killed on these streets – it was never _pleasant_ , but it was never a blow, either. The words would wash through him, they might raise a glass to whoever it was, they’d enjoy planning and executing gruesome revenge. Life would move on, and Holland never lost sleep over it. Holland had never even gotten involved with the revenge himself, because there had always been another member of his social circle who had known the deceased better, cared about them more. It seemed only fitting that they be the one to take revenge. Holland had never cared about anybody _that_ much. So why was he considering it now? Why did his fists clench when he thought about it? 

The thoughts threatened to overwhelm him, and he tried to chase them away. He quickly realised such a thing was impossible, and with an air of resignation he stepped into a doorway, sheltering from the wind and leaning his head against the cool stone. He closed his eyes and let the thoughts wash over him, telling himself that if he confronted them he would probably find out that he didn’t care that much at all; that it was the act of running from the thoughts that made them seem so big, so impossible. He let himself think about if something happened to Talya, if the other merchants finally had enough of her, decided she was wasting an opportunity and they could no longer stand watching her flaunt it in their faces. They would kill her, and then what? Holland would have one less stop when he went to the market; he would simply just not speak to her again. It didn’t seem much more complicated than that. 

So why did his chest tighten when he thought of not speaking to her again? Why wasn’t it that simple? Why, when he thought of _not speaking to her again_ , did that one thing turn into many things: never hearing her laugh again, never hearing another one of her stories, never losing himself in the way she wove details and brought them to life, never seeing her smile again, never seeing her wave excitedly in greeting again, never see her playing silly little games to herself and celebrating when she got it right? It seemed _wrong_ to think about Talya not being there anymore, that small point of light in this bleak city extinguished forever. Holland’s throat felt suddenly dry. 

_What would I do without her_? he thought, and then, _oh, fuck_.

The anger welled up in him out of nowhere, and before he could stop himself he turned and punched the door next to him with all the force he had, only just redirecting his fist from the much harder stone wall. The door was wooden and luckily damp; Holland avoided breaking anything but had to content with splinters instead, and a nasty cut from one of the loose nails. He cursed, bringing his hand up so he could pull the splinters from his skin, the anger at himself only growing. How had this happened? How had he let himself _care_ about her – not just as someone he saw every day, who had taken on a human shape in this city of enemies and strangers, but as somebody he _liked_? Somebody he wanted in his life? Somebody who, if they were gone, would feel like a loss? 

Holland hadn’t felt a loss since he had killed his brother eight years ago. He had sworn to himself, looking down at the shattered chunks of stone that had once been Alox, that he would never make that mistake again. Over the years this conviction had only grown as he remembered how frozen he had been, watching his brother come towards him with that knife; how helpless his love for his brother had made him. He had almost lay there and let his brother kill him, simply because Holland hadn’t been able to believe that it was Alox of all people doing such a thing; simply because he hadn’t wanted to hurt Alox because he had loved him. What was it that his father and brother had always repeated to him, when he had been small and upset over some perceived injustice? 

_Akt khryt in nacht_.

To care is to grieve. 

Holland knew what he had to do now. He had to keep walking; he had to cut off the pooling dread in his gut, the tightness in his chest, the tension in his limbs. He had to ignore the thoughts rushing through his head, screaming at him to go back, telling him that if he didn’t move now it would soon be too late. He had to ignore it all, and he had to carry on, and he had to ensure that he didn’t lead himself towards any more unnecessary pain. There was no room for any of that in this world, and certainly not for people like him. He had known that from the beginning, and it was time to stop pretending otherwise. He would walk away. He would leave it behind. Any pain he felt now would pale in comparison to the future pain he was no doubt saving himself from.

Holland stepped out from the doorway and turned back towards the market. 

He knew something was wrong even before he got there – why else was he hurrying back? – but hearing it confirmed was still a blow to his stomach. He couldn’t work out what was going on from this distance, but he could hear the commotion, the laughter, the jeers. He quickened his step, slipping past several empty stalls, moving towards Talya even before he realised, with a jolt of horror, that that was where the commotion was coming from anyway. He wondered, briefly, if he should turn back again. His feet wanted to push him on, but his mind hesitated, that logic that dedicated itself to keeping him alive, keeping him together, protesting incessantly. 

_It’s already too late_ , it told him urgently. _You know it is. Why show up just in time to watch her die_?

 _Because it might not be too late_ , said one part of him.

 _To prove I don’t care that much at all_ , said another, quieter part. 

Holland shook his head and edged forward. 

He was almost within sight of Talya’s stall when he heard her yelling. On the one hand that was a good thing – she was still _able_ to yell, which was always promising – but on the other hand he had never heard her sound like _that_ before. She was always so bright when she spoke, always so airy and relaxed; the sound of her voice now was tearful and near hysterical, sounding completely unnatural. 

Holland slowed his pace and slipped around the last stall unseen. He was standing behind the assembled crowd, and after moving a few steps to the left he found an angle where he could see what was going on. To his surprise, it didn’t seem to be Talya that the group was focused on, but she was certainly in the thick of it anyway, standing with her arms stretched out in front of her, her palms outwards, shaking her head rapidly from side to side.

“No,” she was saying. “No, that’s not what happened. You’re lying—I _saw_ him, and that isn’t what happened!”

Holland was completely unsurprised to see that Lucien seemed to be leading the day’s festivities. He stood opposite Talya, backed by the rest of the crowd, and at his feet was the huddled figure of a young man not far from Holland’s age. Lucien held one of the boy’s hands firmly by the wrist; he seemed to be curling in on himself, whimpering and trying to pull away from Lucien’s grip with no luck.

“Don’t be so soft-hearted,” Lucien said roughly, but Holland could hear he was enjoying it. “You know what we do to thieves around here.”

“ _He wasn’t stealing_!” Talya cried out. “He didn’t take anything! Nothing is missing!”

“I know you’re a little… reluctant when it comes to fair punishment, Talya,” Lucien said, “but you _really_ must stop this. You know it’s just as bad to aid a thief, yes?”

Talya shook her head, her eyes beginning to shine with tears. “I’m not lying,” she said, but her voice trembled now. “I’m _not _. He didn’t take anything.”__

__“Are you _sure_?” Lucien asked, giving the boy a rough shake as he tried to squirm away. “Are you _absolutely_ sure, Talya? Because I have a dozen witnesses here, and they all say he did. So you can tell the truth, or we’ll take one of your hands, too.”_ _

__Holland hated to watch the reality of the situation flash over Talya’s face; see the fear and the despair and the guilt throw shadows over her features. They looked alien there, and Holland felt a brief rush of anger, one that then steadied itself and came back, more controlled now, more insistent, demanding to be felt. They were messing with her, he knew – they were aware of how much she hated such things, they despised her for her cheer and her brightness. They were going to stamp it out of her however they could, and what better way than to make her seal this boy’s fate and watch the inevitable outcome?_ _

__“Well?” Lucien prompted. “Did he, or didn’t he?”_ _

__Talya opened her mouth as though she was going to speak; her voice cracked and she closed it again, shaking her head, tears streaming down her cheeks. Holland had never seen her cry before. He didn’t even know she _did_. The sight of it made his heart ache. Of all the people who cried every day in this city, Holland would never forgive the place for bringing it upon Talya. _ _

__“So vocal before,” Lucien said, tutting. “I suppose silence speaks louder than words.”_ _

__Talya seemed frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to speak, unable to look away. She cried silently, without so much as a movement of her shoulders; a weeping statue, rigid, helpless. Holland let Lucien and another merchant wrestle the boy to the ground, his arm outstretched and pinned to the stone, wrist bared for the inevitable blade. He steadied his breathing, keeping his eyes off Talya despite the pull he could feel towards her; keeping them focused on the boy instead, waiting for the moment._ _

__The other merchant moved to the side, keeping his foot pressed down against the boy’s arm, just above the crook of his elbow. Enough to keep him in place, but a safe distance from the knife Lucien now held in his hand. It wasn’t a small knife by any means, but it certainly wasn’t going to take the hand off in one clean blow – but of course it wasn’t. People around here didn’t like clean jobs. There were here for the blood, for the screaming, for the show. Holland steadied his breath again, watching the knife. Lucien crouched down, pressing his free hand down on top of the boy’s, lining up the knife against the wrist. The boy struggled and pleaded, and Lucien simply smiled at him._ _

__Lucien raised the knife and brought it back down. It came down maybe half a foot before it stilled in the air, Lucien’s arm rigid, his face going slack with shock and then fear as he realised the arm was locked in place. Holland let him sweat it out for a few seconds, and then reached out to the knife, willing it back. It wrenched itself free of Lucien’s grip – not painlessly, judging by the yelp Lucien let out – and spun towards Holland blade over hilt. Several people scrambled out of its way, turning to follow its progress just as Holland reached up and caught it._ _

__For a long moment everyone stood still, silent, staring at him. Holland kept his eyes fixed on Lucien’s face, aware of the others but paying them no attention. He could feel the shift in the atmosphere, the crowd torn between awe and jealousy and fear. Of course they knew who he was – the whole of London knew who he was. But rarely did Holland use his magic like this. Rarely was it so open. It was, he thought, probably the first real magic most of this crowd – if not all of them – had ever seen._ _

__“ _Antari_ ,” Lucien snarled. _ _

__“Lucien,” Holland said pleasantly. He glanced around. “I have to admit, this is ridiculously transparent. Aren’t you ever going to grow tired of bullying young women?”_ _

__“He’s a thief,” Lucien spat._ _

__Several people in the crowd tried to make a subtle escape; various gasps and cries went up as Holland reached out to them, locked their bones in place._ _

__“Leaving so soon?” he called, moving through the path the knife had cleared when it had come to him. “I thought you wanted a show?”_ _

__He stopped a few feet from Lucien, looking down at him, and then abruptly turned to the merchant. He hadn’t been expecting the attention; Holland saw his eyes catch on his, widening slightly as they saw the inky blackness in one of them. He went a few shades paler. Holland stared for a moment._ _

__“Get off him,” he eventually said, and the merchant jumped back like the boy was suddenly burning him. “You,” Holland said to Lucien. “Let go.”_ _

__Lucien only glared at him. Holland sighed, and Lucien’s hand suddenly wrenched back, pulling free of the boy’s wrist. The boy wasted no time: he stumbled to his feet, his breath coming in frantic gasps, and ran faster than Holland had seen anyone go._ _

__Turning back to Lucien, Holland allowed his gaze to pass quickly, subtly, over Talya. She was still standing rooted to the spot, but she seemed to have stopped crying. She was watching him now, her eyes wide, somewhere between relief and apprehension._ _

__“Stand up,” Holland said, knowing that Lucien would disobey him. He only said the words for the benefit of the crowd, so when they saw Lucien stand they knew it was Holland forcing him to, bending and pulling at the man’s legs until he stumbled, unsteady and glaring, to his feet. Holland thought he could see the palest flush of colour in the man’s cheeks, and he was glad. He _wanted_ to humiliate him. Perhaps then the rest of this damned place would stop listening to him. “Stand up straighter,” Holland said, immediately forcing Lucien to do so. “Come on. A little neatness here. Arms by your sides. Feet together. Back straight. Chin up. You feel that, Lucien? _This_ is magic. _This_ is power. Not playing your stupid little mind games, trying to trick a girl into maiming someone all because you’re jealous that you can’t do what I can do; that you’ll never be able to even if you get Talya out of the way and try and kill me yourself. Did you think you were being subtle?” Holland turned briefly, running his eyes over the crowd. “Did _any_ of you?” He turned back to Lucien, hearing the man’s hitched breathing, seeing the anger and the helplessness on his face. it was a good look for him, Holland thought. About time somebody put it there. “Even if you did succeed in killing me – which is completely beyond your reach, you _stupid_ old man – you could still never compare to this. The magic isn’t yours, Lucien. It never will be. And these ridiculous games are getting very, very old.”_ _

__He twisted the knife in his hand as he spoke, pressing the blade against the tip of his index finger, spinning it around slowly. Finally he stopped, reaching out and tapping the side of Lucien’s face with the blade. He flinched, but couldn’t move away._ _

__“That boy was not a thief, and you know it,” Holland said, shaking his head. “That makes you a liar. And you know what we do to _liars_ around here.”_ _

__Lucien’s eyes widened. Holland could hear him trying to speak, but didn’t loosen his jaw._ _

__“Holland,” Talya said quietly._ _

__Holland kept his eyes on Lucien. The man’s eyes widened more as Holland forced him to open his mouth, pulling the bones in his jaw until Lucien could no longer resist. Holland dragged the knife gently along his jawbone and then tapped it against his lips, sliding it between his teeth so the tip slipped under his tongue. Holland pulled the knife back slightly, just enough to dig into the tongue and lift it from the bottom of Lucien’s mouth. Lucien’s eyes were so wide Holland could see the whites all the way around the irises._ _

__“Holland,” Talya said again, her voice trembling._ _

__“I think it’s only fair we ask the lady,” Holland said, “considering that was how you were operating earlier.”_ _

__Holland saw the despair in Lucien’s eyes; watched him as he tried to resign himself to what he was sure was an inevitable fate. Revenge, pure and simple. Holland could have laughed. Had these people learned nothing about Talya?_ _

__“Holland, please,” she said softly._ _

__“What do you say, Talya?” Holland asked, looking at her. “Should I cut out his tongue, or should I spare him?”_ _

__“Leave him,” Talya said immediately, and shock flashed across Lucien’s face. “I don’t want to see anybody hurt. Holland, _please_.”_ _

__Holland pulled the knife away, relaxed his grip on Lucien’s bones. The man immediately sagged to the ground, breathing raggedly, hunched over so far his forehead almost touched the stones._ _

__“Look at me,” Holland demanded, and this time Lucien did so of his own free will. “Next time you feel like harassing her, remember who spared you. Every time you go to say something, remember who allowed you to go on speaking. The next time you feel like tormenting her for her kindness, remember what that kindness did for you. I will not spare you a second time.”_ _

__Lucien stared at him, and whatever hatred was trying to restore itself in his gaze was drowned out by fear._ _

__“Do you understand?” Holland snapped._ _

__Lucien nodded._ _

__“Say it,” Holland said._ _

__“I understand,” Lucien croaked._ _

__“Get out of here,” Holland told him, and he scrambled to his feet, almost losing his balance, narrowly avoiding crashing back to his knees. He recovered and hurried away, vanishing into the haphazard array of stalls. Holland swept his gaze across the rest of the crowd. “The rest of you, too. Go.”_ _

__Within seconds everybody else had made themselves scarce. Holland stood for a moment, feeling his heart thudding in his chest. Talya stood in front of her stall, exactly where she had been when Holland arrived. They stared at one another for a moment, and Holland felt his chest tighten again, his breathing quicken. Had he gone too far? She could easily hate him now, he reasoned; easily see him as just as bad as the others._ _

__“Talya,” he eventually said, his voice sounding suddenly hoarse. “I—”_ _

__She shook her head, and he snapped his mouth closed. Another moment passed, and then she finally managed to unstick herself from the ground, taking several stumbling steps before she found her balance again. She ran to him, throwing her arms around his neck, and slightly bewildered he caught her, careful to angle the knife away as he wrapped his arms around her waist. She stayed there for a long moment, her breath warm and ragged against the crook of his neck, and then finally she seemed to calm slightly, lifting her head to look at him._ _

__“That was…” she began, and then let out a tearful laugh._ _

__“Horrible?” Holland asked glumly. “Terrible? Sadistic? Evil?”_ _

__“ _Brilliant_ ,” Talya said, and Holland blinked at her._ _

__“Brilliant,” he repeated bluntly._ _

__“You wanted to—to humiliate him,” she said. “Put him in his place. You wouldn’t have _really_ … you wanted to make it so he owed me.” _ _

__Holland thought he wouldn’t have minded, necessarily, if Talya had had a sudden change of heart and asked him to cut the bastard’s tongue out at the root, but he didn’t say so. He just nodded._ _

__Talya laughed again, a hesitant thing, but it did her good. Holland could see the tears in her eyes clearing, the tension leaving her face. She was still there, then – the happy, laughing girl he had just realised he didn’t want to live without._ _

__“You are so…” she started, shaking her head._ _

__“So…?” Holland prompted._ _

__She moved her hands to his cheeks then, pressing their lips together suddenly and desperately, and Holland felt his own tension drain out of him; tension he didn’t even know he had been holding. He was stunned for only a brief second before he was kissing her back, pulling her tighter against him, and any warning in his head – any trace of that voice from earlier, the one that had been screaming at him not to care, not to go down this path – was forgotten about. It seemed to know when a battle had been lost._ _


End file.
